Complimentary
by Settiai
Summary: Brosca might have left one home behind him, but there's another one waiting for him. He just has to find it.


Kavril didn't know what to think about the elf.

He'd seen a lot of weird shit since he'd left Orzammar, and a good half of the things that the humans did made no sense whatsoever to him. It had almost been a relief to be attacked so openly for once. After all those years living in Dust Town and working for the Carta, Kavril knew how to deal with armed thugs. Kill or be killed had been his way of life for as long as he could remember, ever since he was old enough to hold a dagger.

Except the damn assassin had to have gone and asked to join them.

Part of Kavril wished that he'd killed the elf instead of just knocking him out, back when he first attacked. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, though, keeping him alive for questioning. And like it or not, the information he'd given them had been helpful.

Still, it would have been simpler. Especially since Kavril had only had two options, when it was all said and done: let the elf join them or kill him in cold blood. And despite Beraht's best efforts, Kavril had never been the type of dwarf to kill someone without a second thought.

Alistair was still shooting him incredulous looks every now and then, but at least he wasn't saying anything. Kavril had given him the choice of killing the assassin, if that's what he really wanted, and the human had balked. It looked like neither of them were all that willing to get their hands dirty, at least not in that way.

Kavril had done a lot of things in his life that he wasn't proud of. But he'd never killed someone who was unarmed and defenseless, even if they _had_ tried to kill him just a little while earlier. Everyone had a line that they wouldn't cross, even him.

Shaking his head, Kavril let his gaze drift over their campsite. Morrigan was setting up a secondary fire a good ways away from the main camp, as always, close enough that it couldn't be considered a separate camp but with enough distance between her and the rest of them that she could easily pretend they weren't there. Near the main fire, Alistair and Leliana were having a rather animated discussion about something or other that involved a lot of arm-waving, and he'd learned the hard way that he was probably better off not knowing the particulars.

On the opposite side of the camp from the two of them, Sten was opening a packet of what looked like some type of baked goods. Kavril had no idea where he might have possibly gotten them, and he suspected that he was probably better off not knowing. The last three times he'd asked Sten a question, all he'd gotten out of it was a headache and the urge to find the nearest tavern.

And then there was the elf. Zevran. If he was going to be joining their motley crew, Kavril guessed that he should probably at least try to use his name.

Zevran was sitting near the edge of the camp, in the shadows where the light of the fire didn't quite reach, his legs pulled up in front of him and his arms wrapped around them. Toren was curled up beside him sound asleep, the damn dog clearly not caring that he was the only one in the entire camp willing to get close to their newest companion.

Kavril stood there for a moment, just watching. Zevran's gaze was focused upward at the sky, which was slowly fading into the darkness of night. There weren't any moons or stars visible yet, but they'd probably start showing up at any time.

As he watched, Zevran shifted position and unhooked his arms from around his legs. He brought them up over his head, stretching just a tiny bit too slowly and sensually for it to be unintentional. His gaze never once drifted in Kavril's direction.

Kavril snorted.

He wasn't a complete idiot. It was a pointed move on Zevran's part. A fairly subtle one, he'd give the elf that much, but still pretty damn telling. Zevran was showing off the goods, so to speak. He'd seen most of Beraht's women, Rica included, do the exact same thing over the years.

After the day they'd had, Kavril wasn't in the mood to have _that_ particular talk. He'd have to take care of it sooner rather or later, though. Zevran had made it clear that his offer to be a bed warmer had been sincere, and it was pretty damn obvious that he was expecting someone—probably Kavril, judging by that little show—to take him up on it.

That wasn't going to happen. For a lot of reasons, some of them more savory than others, but mainly because of Rica. After everything that he'd watched his sister go through to keep their family safe over the years, everything she'd given up, everything she'd been willing to—

No, just no. It wasn't an option.

Kavril might be a nughumping bastard at times, but he wasn't Beraht. He didn't necessarily have a lot in the way of morals, but he at least had some. And he wasn't going to take someone to his bed when it was clear that person thought it was the price for his life.

Over in the shadows, Zevran had apparently realized that his ruse had been seen through. He turned his head toward Kavril and raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. Then, very deliberately, he stretched again. He was persistent. Kavril had to give him that much.

Rolling his eyes, Kavril couldn't help but give Zevran another quick onceover. It's not like anyone could blame him for enjoying the view, not when it was being offered up so blatantly.

Especially when it was such a nice one.

Then, without saying a word, he turned away and started walking in the direction of Morrigan's fire before he did anything that he'd regret.

* * *

Not for the first time, Kavril couldn't help but wish that maybe he'd been the only Warden to survive Ostagar.

Oh, he didn't mean it. Not really. It was hard enough getting things done with just the two of them. And there were times, when Alistair managed to stop being such a bronto humper for a moment or two, that Kavril thought the two of them might actually be able to be friends one of these days. He got that the man was grieving over the loss of Duncan and the rest of the Wardens, and he tried not to hold it against him. Grief made people do all sorts of things.

But sometimes? Sometimes it was fucking hard to put up with him.

Muttering a variety of curses under his breath, including a few new ones he'd picked up since coming to the surface that would make Leske green with envy, Kavril sat up from his bedroll. There'd been a steady argument between Alistair and Zevran going on outside his tent for a fair bit of time, and he'd been trying his best to ignore it. They were grown men. He wasn't their nursemaid.

Except now Sten had gotten involved and sounded rather displeased that _he_ had been woken up. Which meant things were about to go tits up if he didn't get out there.

"By the Stone, what is going on out here?" Kavril growled as he shoved his head out of his tent.

If he hadn't already been so irritated, it might have amused him how the three of them all froze at the sight of him. As it was, all it did was make him want to strangle the lot of them.

Sten didn't say anything, not that Kavril had expected him to. The qunari just stood there, arms crossed and an annoyed look on his face. Well, at least, Kavril thought it was annoyed. It was hard to tell with Sten sometimes.

Alistair shot a venomous look at Zevran. "I caught him sneaking around camp and being—being—" He spluttered for a second, obviously trying to find another word to use. He didn't manage it. "Sneaky!"

Kavril didn't smile. He wasn't entirely certain how he managed to keep a straight face, but he pulled it off. "Sneaking around being sneaky, huh?" he drawled out, glancing at Zevran and raising an eyebrow.

Zevran gave him a dramatic shrug. "As I was trying to tell our friend here," he said, glancing at Alistair, "I was not 'sneaking.'" He said the word as if it was something particularly distasteful. "I was merely stretching my legs."

"In the middle of the night?" Alistair shot back.

"I awoke unexpectedly," Zevran replied. His tone was casual, but there was a hint of tightness around his eyes that spoke volumes. "A walk seemed like a pleasant diversion."

And there it was.

Kavril reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Alistair," he said with as much patience as he could muster. Judging by the sound Sten made that sounded suspiciously like a snort, he doubted he succeeded very well. "He obviously had a nightmare and was walking it off. You of all people should understand _that_ urge."

Alistair didn't have quite as many darkspawn nightmares as Kavril, but he knew that he did have them. A startled look appeared on Alistair's face, as if the thought of someone else having dreams hadn't even crossed his mind.

There was a flash of something that looked like surprise in Zevran's eyes. It disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared, but the tension on his face seemed to lessen somewhat.

Alistair opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Oh," he said, visibly deflating. "He could have just said so."

Zevran opened his mouth to reply, but Kavril cut him off before he could say anything. "I don't think it's any of your business when _any_ of us have bad dreams," he said, his patience worn thin. Then, before he could help himself, he snorted and added with just a little too much bitterness: "Not that a dwarf is supposed to know so much about dreaming."

Dwarves didn't dream. That was just a fact of life. Except drinking darkspawn blood apparently opened the door to all sorts of fun things, screaming nightmares included.

Stones, it was too late at night for this. Or too early in the morning. Or something.

"Are we done?" Kavril asked, more harshly than he'd intended. "Zevran? Alistair? Sten?" He let his gaze drift behind them and grimaced when he saw a familiar face peering out of one of the other tents. Then he raised his voice a little: "Leliana?"

Alistair and Zevran both shifted guiltily, glancing behind them. Even Sten grimaced slightly, although Kavril wasn't entirely certain it was for the same reasons.

"If they aren't done," Leliana said, her voice almost dripping with aggravation, "I will gladly start putting arrows in them."

Morrigan's voice rang out crossly as she came stomping over from her area of the campsite, her hair mussed from sleep and her eyes flashing. Literally, which was somewhat terrifying. "And I," she snapped, "will do much worse than that."

Alistair blanched. "We're done," he said quickly, although Kavril couldn't help but notice that he didn't actually look at Zevran. "I better get back on watch."

Sten didn't say anything. He did incline his head slightly before turning and walked away, though, which Kavril took as a "yes."

"Zevran?" he repeated, glancing in the elf's direction.

There was a somewhat puzzled look on Zevran's face, as if he was trying to figure something out. At Kavril's question, he nodded. "Sleep well, Warden."

Kavril snorted. "Little chance of that," he replied before ducking his head back into his tent.

* * *

If Kavril never had to think about the Fade again, it would be too soon. By the Stone, he didn't know how the humans and elves put up with it. He'd thought the darkspawn nightmares were bad enough, but the Fade—

He shuddered.

"I do not think you are shivering from the cold," a familiar voice said from behind him.

Kavril snorted, not looking up from piece of wood he was whittling. It had been something Duncan had taught him, on their journey from Orzammar to Ostagar. He wasn't adept at it by any means, but it was relaxing. A way to let his hands take over without needing any input from his head.

Zevran sat down beside him on the fallen tree he was using as a seat. "Mind if I sit?"

"Most people ask before sitting down, you know," Kavril said, still not looking up.

"Ah," Zevran said, "but you should know by now that I am not most people."

The corners of Kavril's mouth turned up slightly, but he didn't let it turn into a full smile. The last thing Zevran needed was encouragement.

A moment or two of quiet passed, and then Zevran cleared his throat. "I do not believe that I have thanked you properly."

Kavril glanced over at him, raising both of his eyebrows. "For what?" he asked. It was a fair question. There were quite a few things that Zevran could be thanking him for, all things considered.

Zevran opened his mouth. Then he closed it, grimacing somewhat. "Ah, yes," he said, "I suppose there _are_ several things that I owe you thanks for."

For a second or two, Kavril was tempted to agree. Then he took a closer look at the sudden stiffness to Zevran's posture, the hint of uncomfortableness in his expression, and decided against it.

"I don't know," Kavril said casually, turning his gaze back toward the wood he was carving. "You haven't killed Alistair in his sleep yet. That probably counts for something."

There was a startled silence for a moment, long enough for Kavril to glance back over at Zevran to make certain he hadn't made a misstep. Just as he did, Zevran threw his head back and laughed, his posture loosening significantly. "I suppose that it does."

Kavril smiled, just for a second or so. Then he let it slip. "You're talking about what happened at the Circle, aren't you?"

Zevran tilted his head slightly, his own expression growing slightly more serious. "I was, yes," he agreed. "You found me in a rather, ah, unpleasant memory."

"There was a lot of that going around," Kavril muttered under his breath, more to himself than as an actual reply. He honestly didn't even mean to say it out loud. It just slipped out.

Zevran frowned, a bit more understanding on his face than Kavril wanted to be there. "There is a story behind those words, I think," he said slowly. His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness to it that Kavril wasn't used to hearing from him.

"There's a story behind most words," Kavril replied quietly. He glanced over at Zevran and gave him a half-hearted shrug. "Some of them aren't worth telling."

Zevran studied his face for a long moment before nodding. "I think that I see, Warden."

Kavril had the sinking feeling that Zevran had probably seen more than he'd intended for him to pick up on. There wasn't anything to do about it now, though. That was life.

Kavril sighed before carefully putting both the piece of wood and his knife down in his lap. "I have a name, you know," he said. "Two of them, even. Take your pick."

As changing the subject went, it wasn't even remotely his best attempt. Nor was it subtle. Sometimes there wasn't really all that much of a need for subtlety, though.

Kavril sent up a quick thanks to anyone or anything who might be listening when he didn't push the issue. Zevran simply chuckled quietly and let it rest.

"And which of these illusive names would you prefer I called you by?" Zevran asked lightly.

Kavril gave him a half-hearted shrug. "Leliana and Wynne call me Kavril," he said. "Alistair and Morrigan call me Brosca. You can decide which group you'd rather belong in."

"And our qunari friend?" Zevran asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Oh, he calls me something insulting, most of the time," Kavril said.

Zevran grinned at him, and Kavril felt something stir a bit lower in his body than was entirely appropriate. Stone take him, it shouldn't be allowed for someone to have a grin like that.

"Sten usually just calls me Warden," he added, a bit more seriously. "Something about qunari not having names, just titles. I tried not to ask too many questions. I'm confused enough as it is after talking with him."

"I see," Zevran said, a bit too somberly for it to be genuine. There was a spark of mirth in his eyes that he didn't bother to hide.

Kavril narrowed his eyes at him.

And then there was a loud crash on the other side of camp. Kavril jumped, his hand going down to grab the knife resting in his lap. Beside him, Zevran's hands had jerked back and come to a rest on the blades he was wearing.

Kavril groaned as he let his gaze drift in the direction the sound had come from. One of the tents was collapsed on the ground, Toren cheerfully pulling on one of the ropes that was supposed to be holding it up. Based on the rather emphatic swearing coming from inside the tent, someone was inside it.

The voice sounded a lot like Wynne's, come to think of it. And if that was the case, Kavril really needed to get some vocabulary lessons from her.

"If I pretend that I don't see it, do you think anyone will notice?" Kavril muttered under his breath, already pushing himself to his feet.

"Hmm, let me think," Zevran said, making a bit show of it. Then he shook his head. "Sadly, no." He grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Once you get them away from you dog, though, I could think of another use for those ropes."

Kavril snorted. "I'm sure I can think of a couple myself."

Zevran's eyes lit up. "Oh ho ho," he asked. "That sounds promising. Do share. Preferably with a hands on demonstration?"

Kavril could practically feel his face turning red with embarrassment. He'd been doing so well at not flirting back too.

"I better get over there before Wynne sets my dog on fire," he said, turning around so quickly that he almost tripped over his own feet.

Zevran chuckled. "Of course," he said, and Kavril could almost _hear_ the leer in his voice. "I'm looking forward to it." He paused for a long moment before adding, almost as an afterthought: "Kavril."

That time, Kavril did trip.

* * *

It surprised Kavril how much he enjoyed Zevran's company. When he didn't want to strangle him, at least.

He wasn't the only one that Kavril talked to, of course. It had taken some time, but he and Alistair had finally found enough common ground for the beginnings of a friendship. Leliana was like a sister to him, to the point where sometimes he wondered what it would be like if she were to meet Rica. He suspected it would either end in bloodshed or world conquest.

Wynne was like what he thought a mother _should_ be. Overbearing, overprotective, and far too serious, but with a good heart. Morrigan scared the shit out of him, but Kavril kind of thought she liked it that way. And Sten… well, Sten was Sten. Kavril didn't understand him, but he respected him. That's all that really mattered.

Zevran, though, was something else entirely.

"You're making it up," Kavril said, shaking his head. "You have to be. Nobody is stupid enough to fall for that."

Zevran brought a hand up and rested it over his heart. "I swear on my honor."

Kavril shot him a skeptical look. Toren apparently agreed with him, considering the almost amused-sounding bark that he let out.

"Or, at least, I would if I had any?" Zevran amended, shifting his gaze between the two of them.

Chuckling, Kavril glanced over his shoulder to make certain that Alistair, Morrigan, and Shale were still behind them and, preferably, in one piece. It wasn't that he didn't trust them. Mostly. The closer they got to Haven, though, the harder it got for him to brush off the feeling that _something_ was wrong.

Maybe it was just being in the Frostback Mountains again. The last time he'd been in them had been with Duncan, when he'd left Orzammar. Had it really been over half a year since then?

He couldn't help but wonder what had happened back in Orzammar since he left. Rica had seemed convinced that she'd found someone to get her out of Dust Town. He hoped she had been right. And then there was Leske. Someone would have taken over the Carta by now, picking up where Beraht left off. Depending on who it was, it could be very bad or very good for the Duster who took him out of the picture.

He didn't even know if they were still alive.

Blight it all. They were going to have to head there eventually. There wasn't any point in thinking about "what ifs" and wondering about things he couldn't change.

Or wondering if he should feel guilty about the fact that he _didn't_ want to go back. Not even for the sake of the Wardens.

"Kavril?"

Kavril jumped slightly. Zevran was staring at him with a curious look on his face, and Kavril had the sinking feeling that he'd probably been trying to get his attention for at least a short while.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I was lost in the past. Did you need something?"

Zevran's eyes flickered forward. "I was thinking it may be time to stop for a rest," he said casually.

Kavril narrowed his eyes, following Zevran's gaze. Leliana, Sten, and Wynne were ahead of them. Wynne seemed to be lagging behind the other two, though, a tension to her movements that he didn't quite like. It was usually easy to forget just how much older than the rest of them she was. But not right then.

"I think you might be right," he agreed quietly. Then he raised his voice: "Anyone else ready to stop for a meal break?"

* * *

The moment Leliana sat down beside him, Kavril knew that something was up.

"Who was it and what did they do?" he asked cautiously.

Leliana laughed. "Must you always assume the worst?" she asked teasingly. "It isn't always doom and gloom, you know."

He snorted. "Can you blame me for being paranoid?"

She smiled at him. "I suppose not," she agreed. "I merely have a question for you, my friend."

Kavril eyed her warily. "A question?" he repeated.

"Yes, a question," Leliana said. "A very simple one."

It was a trap. He knew it was a trap. He didn't know what kind of trap, but it was definitely a trap. But he had no idea how to avoid it.

"I'm listening," Kavril said, trying not to let his hesitation show. Judging by the gleam in Leliana's eyes, he failed. Badly.

Leliana's gaze flickered to the other side of their temporary camp, to where Zevran was talking with a rather red-faced Wynne. Then it came back to focus on Kavril.

Trap. Trap. Trap.

"For the love of Andraste," Leliana asked, " _why_ have you not taken Zevran to your bed yet?"

Kavril let out a strangled sound. One that apparently was louder than he'd intended, considering every single one of the others immediately turned to look at him. His face felt as if it was burning.

"Stones, but I hate you," he muttered to Leliana.

"No, you don't," she said brightly.

Alistair cleared his throat rather loudly. "Is everything fine over there?"

Secrets didn't stay secrets on the road. If Kavril had learned anything, he'd learned that. It was better to give at least a half-truth than a denial, if you truly wanted to keep something to yourself. "She's interrogating me about sex," he said, raising his voice. "You're next. Run while you can!"

It was gratifying that Alistair's face went even redder than his own.

Trying his best to ignore the rather amused look Zevran was shooting in his direction, not to mention the one that _Sten_ was wearing and the thought of Sten being amused at anything was somewhat terrifying, Kavril turned his attention back toward Leliana.

"Can we change the subject?" he asked. He knew it was fruitless, but he had to at least try.

Leliana gave him an annoyed look. It was almost scary how much it looked like the one Rica had used to shoot him whenever he did something stupid.

"You have not answered my question," she pointed out.

"Leliana."

She raised an eyebrow. "Kavril."

There wasn't any winning the argument. He knew that there wasn't. All he was doing was dragging out the inevitable.

Still, he had to try. For the sake of his pride, if nothing else.

"Have you considered that maybe I don't like men?" he asked.

Leliana let out a rather unladylike snort.

"That I don't like elves?"

She gave another snort.

"That I hate you?"

"We've already determined that you don't," Leliana said sweetly, but there was iron underneath the honey.

"That I don't want him to feel like he has to sleep with me because I didn't kill him?" Kavril asked, the words tumbling out in a rush.

There was a long pause. Then Leliana let out a rather exasperated sounding sigh.

"Please tell me you are joking?" she asked.

Kavril shifted a little, not quite meeting her gaze. "I've told you about my sister," he said. "What she does, back in Orzammar. Or, at least, what she did. Maybe what she still does."

Leliana didn't say anything for a moment. Then she sighed again.

"He has been traveling with us for months now," Leliana said with an annoying amount of practicality. "Do you truly think he would make that assumption? After all this time?"

Kavril shrugged. "I don't know," he said honestly. "And until I'm sure—" He sighed. "I can't. I may be a lot of things, but I'm not _that_."

"Oh Kavril," she said, shaking her head. "Sometimes I forget how young you are."

He shot her a rather pointed look. "You have no idea how old or young I am."

Leliana just smiled at him, reaching out to tuck one of his braids behind his ear. He didn't doubt for a second that she knew perfectly well that his eighteenth name-day had passed while they had been somewhere between the Circle and Redcliffe.

Kavril groaned. "How do you learn these things?" he asked. "There's literally not a single person on the surface who could have told you."

Her smile didn't dim. "Talk to him," she said, not even pretending to answer his question.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that it wasn't just a suggestion.

Or that, even if he thought of her as family, she sometimes scared the shit of him just as much as Morrigan. Women. He'd never understand the appeal of them.

* * *

 _Given my druthers I would say I prefer a soft and shapely woman._

Kavril wasn't stupid. He knew what Zevran had meant, that he'd been trying to explain that his tastes were rather broad and not dictated by what anyone else told him they should be. Still, he couldn't get Zevran's words out of his head. Soft, shapely, woman. Three words that had nothing whatsoever in common with him.

It was going to be long night if he couldn't get his mind off of their conversation. At least they didn't have to worry about watches anymore, what with Shale not needing sleep. He didn't have to get up in the middle of the night to make sure they weren't attacked. But that didn't change the fact that he still needed sleep.

Stone take him, this had been so much easier back in Orzammar. He reached up to touch his face, tracing the outline of his brand with his fingers. Then he moved his hand up to touch the tattoo positioned above it. The one he'd gotten so that he could pretend that the brand was just another tattoo, a part of a larger design, rather than a sign of exactly who and what he was.

Muttering a few curses under his breath, Kavril sat up. He glanced to his left, where Alistair was sleeping, his breathing slow and steady. Alistair typically slept outside, where he could see the stars, but the rain earlier in the night had caused all of them to shift their sleeping patterns somewhat.

Maybe that was why he was having so much trouble sleeping. It had been ages since Kavril had shared a tent with someone, after all.

Shaking his head, Kavril carefully pushed himself up and slipped out of the tent. The sound of rain had disappeared earlier, and it was clear outside if a bit darker than usual thanks to the clouds.

When exactly had things like rain and clouds become something normal to him?

"You cannot sleep either?"

Kavril startled, glancing over in the direction of where the fire had been burning earlier. There was a Zevran-shaped shadow sitting beside it, a bedroll spread out on the ground under him.

Shaking his head, Kavril walked over and dropped down on the bedroll beside him. "Mind if I sit?"

It was difficult to tell in the dark, but he was fairly certain that Zevran's mouth twitched. "Most people ask before sitting down, you know," he said, downplaying his accent the best he could and making his voice a bit gruffer. More like Kavril's.

"Ah," Kavril said, putting on his best fake Antivan accent, "but you should know by now that I am not most people."

Zevran chuckled.

Kavril leaned against his shoulder, resting his head against Zevran's arm, and he felt him still at the touch.

"What would you do if I asked if you wanted to join me in my tent?" Kavril asked quietly.

To Zevran's credit, there was only a moment of hesitation. "I would have to ask that you be the one to explain to Alistair that it was _your_ idea."

Kavril snorted. "I didn't exactly mean right now, at this very moment."

Zevran went quiet.

"I must admit, I was starting to think you were not interested," Zevran said thoughtfully. "I was considering starting to recite poetry to Alistair instead."

Kavril felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Zevran," he said as seriously as he could manage, "I would pay money to see you recite Antivan sex poetry to Alistair."

Zevran threw his head back and laughed. "See? This is why I like you."

Kavril sighed, looking up at the sky. It was still cloudy, but one of the moons was shining brightly enough to be seen as were a few of the stars. "You never actually answered my question, you know."

There was another long moment of silence.

"Is there a reason you're asking?" Zevran asked curiously.

Reluctantly, Kavril glanced over at Zevran. There was an unreadable look on Zevran's face, and he had no idea what it meant.

Kavril swallowed.

"Maybe there's something in my tent that needs assassinating," he said lightly. "I hear you're good at that."

Zevran raised an eyebrow and glanced at the tent, a hint of a grin forming on his face. And Kavril knew what exactly what he was thinking.

"Blight it all," Kavril muttered under his breath. "This would be a lot easier if Alistair wasn't in my damn tent right now."

"Or perhaps harder," Zevran said, with just enough innocence in his tone to let Kavril know that the innuendo had been completely intentional.

Kavril groaned and hid his face in his hands. "You're hopeless," he said, not really caring whether or not it was too muffled for Zevran to make out.

There was a hot breath on his cheek, Zevran's mouth almost touching his ear it was so close. "Or perhaps hopeful?"

With more than a little reluctance, Kavril moved his hands away. Zevran was leaning in close to him, a shiteating grin on his face that shouldn't have been nearly as attractive as it was.

"Oh, fuck it," Kavril said.

And then they were kissing, and nothing else mattered.

* * *

"Last night, when the dwarf and the painted elf were naked—"

Kavril spat out the sip of water he'd just taken. "Shale!"

He was in good company, at least. Alistair and Wynne had both had similar reactions. Sten and Morrigan looked as if they were doing their best to pretend to be deaf, and Leliana was wearing a very self-satisfied smirk. Poor Levi Dryden looked like he wished he was anywhere but there just then, and Bodahn wasn't far behind him.

As for Zevran… well, he looked much too smug for Kavril's tastes, actually. And his mouth was opening, as if he was about to start talking.

"Don't," Kavril said firmly, giving Zevran a look that he hoped conveyed an appropriate threat. Such as the fact that there wouldn't be any repeat whatsoever of the night before if he started giving the entire camp details.

Zevran's mouth closed rather quickly.

"If it does not want questions," Shale said, sounding disgruntled, "then perhaps it should remember that golems do not sleep before it removes its clothing and—"

"Yes, you've made your point," Kavril said quickly, cutting Shale before they could say anything else. He wondered if it was bad of him to really wish for a darkspawn attack just then, to make the conversation they were having end as soon as possible.

Leliana giggled. "Speaking of points," she said with a thoroughly amused grin. "Dare I ask—" She trailed off, raising an eyebrow.

Morrigan scoffed. "I, for one, do not want _any_ details."

"I never thought I'd said this," Alistair said, not actually meeting anyone's gaze, "but I agree with Morrigan. Stop talking. Please."

Zevran winked at Leliana. "I am certain the two of us will be able to find time to talk later."

"No," Kavril said, "no, you won't. Trust me on that."

Leliana and Zevran exchanged a look that didn't ease his worries even a little.

* * *

Returning to Orzammar was even worse than Kavril had expected.

It was his own fault. He'd gotten used to life on the surface, where people at least treated him like a person. Being a Warden had gotten him back into the city. He should have known it wouldn't do much else.

"Alistair," he said quietly, after the third person they had tried to question took one look at his Warden armor and then another look at his brand before stomping off, "maybe you should do the talking."

Alistair was still watching incredulously as the Merchant caste woman Kavril had just tried to speak to disappeared around a corner. At Kavril's words, though, his gaze snapped back toward him in an instant. "What?"

Kavril gave him a half-hearted shrug and forced a casual smile that he didn't quite feel on his face. "You heard me," he said. "We don't have a lot of time here, and they're more likely to talk to a human than a casteless."

Zevran's eyes felt as if they were burning a hole in his face, his gaze focused on Kavril's brand as if he was seeing it for the first time.

"I don't understand," Alistair said, shaking his head. There was an utterly confused look on his face. "We're both Wardens. Why would they—"

"That's just how it is," Kavril snapped, cutting him off. "All that matters down here is the fucking brand."

Alistair stared at him, a slightly hurt expression on his face.

Kavril swallowed hard and looked away.

Behind them, Shale made annoyed sound. Or possibly an amused one. It was difficult to tell, sometimes.

"If the dwarves wish to stare, perhaps I should give them a reason," Shale said, and that was definitely annoyance. "How squishy are dwarves?"

"No killing anyone," Kavril said tiredly.

Zevran cleared his throat. "I could perhaps—"

"No killing anyone," Kavril repeated, finally glancing behind him. " _Please_."

Zevran huffed. "I was going to say that I could perhaps quote Antivan sex poetry at them," he protested. "Killing people. Bah. Whatever would make you think that was what I was going to say?"

Alistair made a strangled noise.

Zevran was wearing an overly innocent look on his face, and it was obvious that the only reason he'd made the comment in the first place was to get Kavril to stop ignoring them. And it had worked like a charm.

Despite everything, Kavril felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Come on," he said, shaking his head. "We need to head this way." He gave Alistair a slightly apologetic look. "I'll do what I can, but I wasn't joking when I said you might need to do the talking. It's probably only going to get worse when we're talking to the warriors or nobles."

Alistair nodded, but he didn't look happy about it.

Kavril did his best to ignore the looks they were getting as they made their way toward the Chamber of Assembly. Part of him knew that it wasn't _entirely_ because of him. A golem, a human, and an elf were all rare enough sights in Orzammar, possibly even rarer than a brand in the Diamond Quarter.

"You know," Zevran said casually, leaning in so that his words were for Kavril's ears only, "now that you are a Warden, you do not have to keep that mark if you do not wish it."

Kavril shot him an incredulous look. "I'm fairly certain it's permanent," he said. "Unless you plan on burning it off my face or something else along those lines."

Behind them, Shale made a thoughtful sound.

Kavril frowned. "Just how good can golems hear?" he asked, lowering his voice a little.

"Very," Shale said dryly.

Kavril grimaced and tried very hard not to think about the implications of _that_ answer. Then he turned his attention back to Zevran. "You're not thinking about burning it off my face, are you?" he asked. "Or cutting it off? Because I might not like it, but neither of those sounds like the best plan."

Zevran rolled his eyes. "I was thinking perhaps you might wish to cover it with a different tattoo," he said. "I expect it would not be allowed if you still lived in Orzammar, but you are a Warden now. Surely you could alter it if you wished?"

Kavril froze in place.

"What's wrong?" Alistair asked, sounding worried.

Shale let out a disgruntled huff. "The elf and the dwarf are engaging in mating activities again," they said. "Hopefully they will not remove any clothes this time."

Alistair made a noise that sounded halfway between a laugh and a groan.

There was a cautious look on Zevran's face. "It was merely a suggestion," he said. "If it is not something you would wish to do—"

Kavril grabbed Zevran by the armor and pulled him down for a kiss.

The sound Alistair made then was definitely more of a groan. But it was also quieter, as if it was coming from farther away.

"I take it you approve of the idea?" Zevran asked, quirking an eyebrow as Kavril let go of him.

Kavril grinned at him. "You're amazing, you know that?" he asked.

Zevran preened. "Of course I am."

"No, I mean it," Kavril said, shaking his head. He met Zevran's gaze straight on, and he couldn't care less that they were in the middle of the Diamond Quarter with a bunch of nobles standing around gaping at them. For just a moment, they were the only two people in Thedas who mattered. "You really are amazing."

Kavril wasn't certain what he'd expected from Zevran. A grin or a smirk, maybe. A kiss. A casual wave of the hand as if it wasn't important.

What he got was none of those.

To his complete surprise, a flush appeared high on Zevran's cheeks. He ducked his head slightly, not meeting Kavril's gaze.

He looked almost… embarrassed.

"The things you say," Zevran said, something in his voice not quite as self-assured as Kavril was used to hearing from him.

Kavril tentatively reached out and rested a hand on Zevran's arm. Zevran shifted his gaze to his hand before slowly moving it back upwards to his face.

"Nothing but the truth, Zev," Kavril said with a smile. "Nothing but the truth."

* * *

The fight was over almost before it began.

Kavril just stood there, staring at the already cooling corpses on the floor. Jarvia's empire, torn down in a moment, barely even causing them to break a sweat. Almost a year ago exactly, he and Leske had stood there side-by-side, staring at Beraht's body and thinking the same thing.

And now he was standing there, staring at Leske's body.

He didn't actually notice when his legs slid out from under him. In one breath he was standing, and the next he wasn't.

"Brosca, are you hurt?" Alistair asked, sounding worried. When that didn't get a reply, his tone shifted slightly. "Kavril?"

"Give him a moment," Zevran said quietly.

A distant part of Kavril's mind tried to remember just how much he had told Zevran about Leske. He'd mentioned that they were friends, he knew that, but had he told him more?

Had he mentioned how they had grown up together, running wild on the streets of Dust Town, picking fights and stealing food and just trying to stay alive? How the only reason he'd escaped from that prison of Beraht's was because Leske was in the next cell over, urging him to get off his ass and do something? That Leske had been the first person he ever kissed, back when they were young and stupid and drunk on cheap ale?

Or had he told him that, if Leske had any interest whatsoever in men, Kavril thought that he could have loved him?

Kavril sat there beside Leske's body. He could hear the others moving around behind him, whispered conversations going on that he probably could have made out if he'd tried, but his attention was focused entirely on the still form in front of him. And at the sightless eyes that seemed to be staring straight at him, accusingly.

He reached out and closed them.

"It didn't have to end this way, you idiot," Kavril whispered. "You should have trusted me."

There wasn't an answer, of course. It surprised him how much that hurt.

A familiar hand placed itself on his shoulder. "We should leave," Zevran said, his voice a confusing mix of gentle and firm.

Kavril closed his eyes. "Yes, we should," he agreed. His voice sounded hollow. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the here and the now instead of the past. "We have a king to put on the throne."

Zevran squeezed his shoulder.

Kavril took another shaky breath. Then he glanced up at Zevran, meeting his gaze straight on. "Let's get this over with," he said, his voice sounding stronger than he thought it would. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get back to the surface." His gaze drifted down to rest on Leske's body one more time, and he knew that he'd never forget the sight. "This place isn't home anymore."

It was time to stop worrying about the past and focus on the future.

Zevran offered him his hand.

Kavril stared at it for a moment and smiled. Then he took it.


End file.
